My Anywhere But Here Blog

Wishes We Whisper to Ourselves

There are quiet moments in life

when we find ourselves wishing.

Particularly when you know your life has been shortened.

We all make wishes on our birthdays by blowing out the candles.

Not the kind of wishes we say out loud—

not the ones we casually mention in conversation.

The sacred ones…

that if we spoke them aloud, might never come to fruition.

These are the wishes we keep hidden in our souls—

spoken only between God and ourselves.

Whispered in our quiet places,

almost like the way we bring our deepest needs in prayer.

Our wishes that only we truly understand.

The softer ones.

The private ones.

The ones we carry quietly within.

Wishes we tell ourselves

when no one else is listening.

As we approach Maundy Thursday,

a day marked by humility, love, and quiet surrender,

we are reminded that even in the most uncertain moments—

faith often begins in a whisper.

Not always bold.

Not always unwavering.

But present… even in its smallest form.

Sometimes our wishes sound like hope—

Maybe things will get better soon.

Sometimes they sound like reassurance—

God, help me believe I’ll be okay, even if I don’t feel like it yet…

or even if it never comes.

And sometimes…

they sound like something in between,

half prayer, half longing.

When I was a child, I believed God heard our prayers.

But as I got older, and faced uncertainties beyond my comprehension,

I came to also believe in wishes—

the ones carried on the wind…

perhaps to God,

or perhaps created for His purpose in ways we do not fully understand.

I remember wishing not to go through so many struggles at such a young age.

I was ten when I was told my spine would be placed in a brace.

I could only imagine the ridicule.

The looks.

The laughter.

The fear of being seen for something other than who I truly was.

Life was going to change—

and change it did.

Even today, I carry a guarded heart.

Yet still, I try not to let that guard take my faith with it.

I try to believe that my words—my wishes—are heard…

carried on the wind…

and received by God in heaven.

We all have them.

The quiet words we repeat in our own hearts

as we move through our days.

Perhaps it is:

• Lord, I don’t understand this… but I’m trying to trust You.
• Please give me strength for what’s ahead.
• Help me not feel so alone in this moment.
• Carry me through what I cannot carry on my own.
• Let something good come from this, even if I cannot see it yet.

They may not sound like perfect prayers.

They may not feel strong or certain.

But they are still reaching.

Because every quiet wish,

every whispered hope,

every uncertain prayer—

is still a turning toward God.

Even when our faith feels fragile.

Even when our understanding falls short.

Even when we are simply trying to hold on.

Perhaps the quiet truth is this:

God hears even the words we struggle to form.

The ones we second-guess.

The ones we barely speak.

The ones that feel too small to matter.

Nothing offered in sincerity

is ever too small for Him.

On Maundy Thursday,

we remember a Savior who sat with His disciples,

knowing what was to come—

yet choosing love, presence, and surrender anyway.

Then He went into the Garden of Gethsemane,

praying to His Father:

“Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cup from me:

nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done.”

He even said:

“My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death.”

He was grieving, pleading, and surrendering all at once.

In the garden, His words were not filled with answers—

but with honesty.

He did not try to make the moment clearer than it was.

He did not soften the weight of what He was about to face.

He brought everything before the Father—

the fear, the sorrow, the knowing—

and still chose trust.

There was no need for noise.

No need for full understanding.

Only a quiet surrender.

Not everything was loud.

Not everything was explained.

All of it was quiet.

Intentional.

Deeply personal.

Just like the prayers we whisper today.

So if your faith feels quiet right now…

let it be quiet.

If your prayers feel uncertain…

let them be uncertain.

You do not need perfect words.

You do not need unwavering strength.

Sometimes all it takes

is a quiet turning of the heart:

Lord… I’m still here.

Help me trust You in this.

And for today,

that is enough.

In My Anywhere But Here,

we hold space for even the smallest prayers—

because they are often where faith begins.

— Susan Thomas

My Anywhere But Here